


Fish and Chips

by Kestrel337



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Evil Mary Morstan, Flash Fic, Not Canon Compliant, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other, Tumblr Prompt, pre John/Mary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 03:34:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9302384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestrel337/pseuds/Kestrel337
Summary: Prompted by this Tumblr post:http://geekyangie.tumblr.com/post/155173494466/iamtheno1cumbercookie-but-what-if-mycroft-wasBasically, what if Mycroft was telling the truth when he said that he and John meet up for fish and chips?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Flash fiction, which means no beta, no britpick. Enjoy.

The vinyl covered bench was worn thin, the informal surroundings full of laughter and chatter, the sizzle of deep fryers and shouted orders. The noise of life; something neither of them had dealt with in far too long. John nodded his greeting and waited for Mycroft to sit, to set their meals on the scuffed laminate table top.

“Dr Watson. How are you keeping these days?”

“Well enough, Mycroft. Well enough.” 

If it wasn’t quite true, neither was it entirely false, and there were more pressing matters than John Watson wallowing in misplaced grief. Mycroft could at least ensure he’d taken a hot meal, although his nutritionist would doubtless dispute the term. He slid a plastic raft of steaming fish and chips across the table. “Vinegar,” he offered once he’d liberally anointed his own portion.

John shook his head wordlessly, seemingly lost in contemplation of the faux-newspaper headlines on the paper lining his basket.

They both sat in silence for a time, each waiting for the other to take the first bite, until finally John took up a chip between thumb and forefinger. “Thanks,” he said, and bit it neatly in two. 

“It’s very much my pleasure.” 

“I highly doubt that,” John said, his gesture taking in the shabby surroundings. He’d been selecting increasingly seedy establishments, and if he thought that doing so would put Mycroft off, well. Trying to manipulate a Holmes had given the man a reason to live once before. 

“Not my ordinary milieu, but I enjoy a change as much as the next man. And the fare is good,” he added, indicating his half-eaten filet. “Was this a regular haunt for you and my brother?”

“Don’t pretend just for the sake of small talk. You knew our regular haunts better than we did, probably.” 

Which, of course, was why he’d been willing to meet John at his choice of location; Sherlock had already deemed each of these places worthy of his custom, so he was reasonably sure he’d not come away with some food borne illness. “Fair enough. I have a favor to ask of you.” 

John stared, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. Mycroft could almost hear the thoughts flying through his brain, the connections and questions clicking into place. Far more clever than Sherlock’d given him credit for, right up until the very end. “Yeah? What sort of favor? The kind where if I turn you down, you’d have to kill me?” 

The patronizing smirk washed over his features before Mycroft could stop it, and he tried for humor to soften his answer when John raised a challenging brow. “A blood oath of silence would probably cover it.” 

John coughed out an almost laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, alright. Go ahead.”

“There is a woman who had recently submitted an application to the clinic where you work…”


End file.
